


In The Cold We Wait.

by textrain



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bisexual Barry Allen, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Barry, Bottom Len, Consent Issues, Dark, Dark Past, Depression, Drama & Romance, Endgame Leonard Snart/Barry Allen, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Loss of Control, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Masturbation, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Orgasm Control, POV Barry Allen, POV Leonard Snart, Protective Cisco Ramon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rope Bondage, Sexy Parka Action, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Some Humor, Telepathy, Top Barry, Top Len, Tragic Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vibrators, Violence, Voyeurism, rim jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textrain/pseuds/textrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is wrong with the Flash, and Captain Cold has to deal with the growing repercussions of their strange encounters. Not completely canon to the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What do you want from me?

**Author's Note:**

> This will have multiple chapters, but the updates will be slow. Hope you all enjoy where the story goes!

_I want to fill that supple mouth with my cock, bite those lips in passion, tear the man apart, bury him deep into the ground only to see an angel rise. Up, up, up it goes. High in the nights sky, the wind beating through the stagnant odor of its formal vessel that sits stinking in deterioration. Leave me on this soiled ground, until the day you decide to fall. We'll make this right, the moment you are once again in my arms._

It has been Thirty six seconds since the fire from Mick's gun licked the air as the man had attempted to burn the Flash to ash. Eight seconds since Len shivered fearfully at the residual echo of Mick's rough holler for cover being cut off abruptly. Len's finger had been ready to pull the trigger of the cold gun. Three seconds since he came face to face with one pissed off Flash who stood stiffly several meters away in the darkness of the alley.

Mick was out for the count, his body laying limp on the rough concrete covered by deep shadows. He had been knocked out in the flash of a moment. Literally. The Scarlet Speedster had caught them off guard as he sped into the scene of their latest heist. Len had no idea where Lisa had gone, as she decided to split in a different direction with their hard earned spoils. Perhaps she could slip by the Flash. Unless he had dealt with her first.

He on the other hand was absolutely fucked.

'What the hell are you doing, Cold?'

_Good question kid._

Mick and Lisa had persuaded him to pilfer the Claude Monet painting being displayed at the Central City museum. 'The Magpie' was the prize, along with the instant notoriety they would gain from a successful heist. The moment Len saw it in person while casing the museum, he knew with certainty that it had to be displayed in his home.

The painting was comforting, and reminded him of a weekend both Lisa and he had spent with their Grandfather. He could still hear Lisa's laughter as they learned how to skate on the ice of the pond right next to the house. He can still feel how pride radiated through his chest as his sister learned how to slide across the ice fluidly, her body in surprising synchronization as she circled around him in glee. To see his sister at such peace made him wish for that welcoming time just one more time, and this painting embodied a similar landscape, a similar feeling of those short few days.

Its winter landscape vibrantly painted with dreamy grays and whites, the worlds shadows extending like reaching fingers towards the viewer. Occupied within the snow littered landscape lays a solitary home partially hidden by trees and a shabby fence. A lone Magpie rests on the gate separating the viewer from the winter world beyond.

_It is stunning._

The Flash frowns as he await a response, the other mans body thrumming with energy. A smirk curls Len’s lips, but he feels his stomach roil in sickness as he stands his ground. The cold gun pointed threateningly at the speedster. It is his only line of defense.

'I'm doing what I always do, what I do best. Stealing. I thought you would have caught on by now, Scarlet.’

The security had been tight, but he had spent weeks casing the building, and laboring through the blueprints that Mick had slapped onto his tinkering desk some few weeks ago. Len had been planning this for months, and now it's all ruined. Unless Lisa can get away with the painting right under Scarlet's nose. Please let her get away.

_Couldn't the kid take a day off? He always seemed to have his head up their asses._

The Flash crosses his arms in irritation, and stares at Len. He can’t help but think that the speedster wants to see him sweat, until the man finally declares.

'There is more to life than crime, Snart. More to you.'

Len smirks, he feels flattered that the kid has so much unwarranted faith in him.

'You are right about that, Scarlet. But I'm just so good at being bad that it doesn't really matter. I'm one of the best thieves out there. And I love what I do, I always have.’

'Go somewhere else and do it, since you love it so much. Why stay here? In this city, there is nowhere for you to run and hide. I'll find you while you're out being the bad guy, and I’ll take you down each and every time.'

If Len wasn’t wearing his goggles, he wonders what Barry would see. How much irritation would be visible as he was forced to listen to the same speech over and over. It has become so very tiresome. Why does Barry care so much? Len sighs for the dramatics, and waves the cold gun as he retorts with a mostly casual affliction. He tries to remain impassive.

'Come on kid, you know my answer to that already. I've told you once before, but you seem to be a poor listener. This is my home and there is nowhere else I'd rather be. Not only that, our games have become so much fun. How could I just leave when there is someone out there to give me a challenge?’

The Flash's voice booms in anger, his body straining violently. Len watches the man's gloved fingers tighten as he clenches his arms in self restraint. He wonders how much restraint the man really has, when he will become another loose cannon.

'This isn't a game! People get hurt or die because of your actions.'

_Well, isn’t that something. Kettle meet pot._

‘I’m not the only killer here, am I?’

The Flash’s face crumples in blatant torment, his eyes glowing yellow through the darkness. Looks like Len struck a raw nerve.

'No, that isn't true! I'm out saving countless lives every day while you are out destroying them.'

The kids hands wave desperately as he tries to dismiss the accusation, it is pathetic how easily the kid tries to avoid the truth. How he often started speaking of things he knew zip about. He didn’t know anything, and it pissed Len off. That, and the kid was holding something back. Lying. A growing wind blows the parka’s hood off as Len steps toward the speedster menacingly, his heart thumping quickly in his chest.

'Tell me, how much blood do you have on your hands, Barry?'

Len keeps walking forward, he is just a few feet away from the trembling hero. His cold gun is powered up, and thrumming in his hands. Just in case.

'Shut up.’

Len stops. The kid is no longer looking at him, his hands clenched in tight fists as he stares wide eyed at the cracking concrete beneath his feet.

'How many times have your actions led to someone's gruesome demise?'

The Flash lifts his gaze from the crumbled ground. The kids expression is blank, his eyes empty. Len is terrified, and knows he is pushing this too far. However, the damn kid needed to stop putting on his usual facade in front of him. They were not friends, they are enemies. He needed to kick the speedster from his high horse, show him how similar they were. Barry was a little killer too, wasn’t he? He is proven right within a few seconds. Apparently the horse wasn’t high at all.

‘Do you think I wanted to see anyone die? Do you think I wanted to kill anyone? I was doing everything that I could, yet it just wasn’t enough.’

Len shudders as a chill creeps through his spine. Seems that the city’s hero was just as broken as it was. The fact that the kid had killed someone doesn’t sit well. He should have felt relief that the man wasn’t as perfect as everyone portrayed him. Compassion leaks through his words at the sudden observation. He wants to puke, there is too much truth being said. The cold gun rests limply within his grip.

‘Of course not, Barry. You shouldn’t expect yourself to be able to save everyone in this city. It is impossible, even for The Flash. Heroes have their bad days, you just have to pick yourself back up from those moments. I can’t have my nemesis falling apart from needless guilt.’

Hope shines briefly through the hero’s countenance. Barry never seemed to give up, and Len can’t help but find that it is slightly endearing. Len had been much too nice to the man, too forgiving of his nemesis’s weakness. Pulled him back from the darkness just as quickly as he fell there. But something still lingered underneath.

‘Help me then, Snart. We don’t have to keep fighting each other, we can team up and protect Central City together. We can save lives, no one else has to die needlessly if we can help it.’

‘I don’t want to help you. I want to help myself, and that is it. There isn't anything left to save, Scarlet. I’m the villain in all of this, whether we both have blood on our hands or not.’

The Speedster was monologuing once again, his back now turned from the enemy as he walked away in visible disappointment. Of course he was telling Len that he had good in him, that he wasn't this horrible person. What did the kid know? This is how Len had always operated, a man in the dark. Waiting for the perfect time to strike. He wasn’t a hero.

'You might believe that you're a lost cause, but I only see a conflicted man cradling the line between what is right and wrong.'

'Give it up kid, do you even hear yourself? This isn't some cute little bedtime story where the monster under the bed is actually your friend. That monster is just some twisted thing that wasn't ever loved or cared for, that was beaten down over and over until all it knew was pain and suffering. It doesn't want to be your friend, it just wants to rip your throat out. Devour your misery to add to its own.'

More anger vibrates visibly through The Flash. Len stares at questioningly at the speedsters back as the kid pushes in the com button built into his iconic mask. Len wonders why the kid was messing with it. That is until icy words flow from the man standing still ahead of him. Something malicious squirms in delight within the shadows of the masked mans demeanor.

'Are you just a sad little monster, Snart? Are you unloved, and broken down? Did your daddy beat you, and kick you while you were begging for him to stop as you sat kneeling on the ground?'

_What the hell?_

'Don't bring that piece of shit into this. Don't you fucking dare, Flash. You don't even -'

'Know? But isn't it so obvious though? He still has all of this power over you, even while his corpse rots at the cemetery.'

_Accusing eyes, an outstretched hand trying to grip his arm. The growing buildup of ice spreading through his Fathers chest. That last breath in, the last pitiful exhale out._

'Stop it.'

A tremble courses through Len's body, his hands shaking around the cold gun. Sweat slicks the inside of his gloves. Something is wrong. All of this is so wrong.

'You don't have anything to prove to him anymore. Why do you keep letting him dictate what you are, who you will always be? You are more, you are so much more damnit.'

Green eyes penetrate through the growing cracks of Len's facade. He wants to see the Flash freeze. The gun powers up without a second of thought, the whirring loud, the threat unmistakable.

'Get out of my face, Barry.'

_Get that pretty face out of here. I’m going to kill you, go away for your own good. Please go away, Barry._

Air escapes Len’s lungs in a whoosh as he is pushed into the museums outer wall. The cold gun slipping from his fingers, the clattering on concrete sounding final.

_Damnit, now is not the time for butter fingers._

Powerful hands grip tightly onto his arms, holding him back effectively. Len tries kicking the feet from under the speedster, but the man moves in closer to avoid any potential damage. Their bodies press tightly together as they struggle for dominance, but the other man has the upper hand. Len snarls as Barry’s breath brushes harshly against his parted lips. He is too close for comfort, so Len slams his head forward, going for a head-butt. It misses its mark as the kid flashes out of the way.

 _Son of a bitch, the kid is fast._ An arm presses against his neck threateningly, as he is pushed tighter against the bricks of the building behind him. The Flash whispers severely against Len’s right ear.

'Why don't you make me, Captain Cold.’

The man pulls away marginally, and Len can breathe much easier as the space between them increases for a moment. There is lightening flickering through the insides of Barry's eyes, and there is a dangerous gleam from within the man that makes Len tingle from the thrill of fear and from the growing arousal of their current game. Because yes, he can feel it now, the hard press of the speedsters cock straining against his leg. Did the kid even know what he was doing? Was this all some twisted game to Central City’s local hero? This was taking things too far. There was something wrong with The Flash. Len wants to fight him off, but his body refuses to listen.

‘Show me how you plan on getting out of this, Cold.’

Lips trace the length of Len’s neck. He can’t help himself as he shudders and throws his head back against the wall. Whatever anger he had moments ago is swiftly pushed into the back of his mind, he’ll let it simmer and make Barry pay. _I’ll make him freeze._ Blunt nails trace down his throat as the arm pinning him goes back to a less threatening hold. The Flash laughs sardonically as Len groans aloud. Len wants to sneer, but he can’t seem to pull it off. Everything feels so fucking hot as sweat makes his clothes cling to his flesh. He doesn’t even want the kid, could never want him. However, it has been such a long time since someone had touched him. And he has a feeling that it would be just how he liked it. His lips part in excitement as he realizes that Barry can feel every movement between them. Can feel every breath.

_This is a horrible idea, what the hell am I doing?_

Len grinds his hips slowly against the other mans, his lips curling up into a predatory grin. The speedster watches Len’s lips raptly as he teases quietly.

'I'm at a bit of a disadvantage at the moment.’

Or maybe not. The Flash was breathing heavily as if he was actually having trouble holding on as Len pushed against the other mans wavering grip, their bodies sliding wickedly against the others. Barry’s eyes close as he tilts his head back in his growing excitement. Perhaps Len could still worm his way out of this and even get a good fuck to go with his prize.

‘I can-‘

A groan comes from several feet away as Mick slowly curls into himself, he was waking back up. Len pushes the Flash away savagely, their eyes wide as they both come back to their senses. What the hell were they doing?

The kid won’t even look at him as he backs away desperately, as if it was Len’s fault they were about to fuck in the alley. As if he wasn’t in control of himself. As if neither of them were in control.

‘Hey, kid…’

Barry was gone in the blink of an eye.

 


	2. The Road Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter, sort of stepping into the story slowly. Don't worry, it will pick up soon enough.

Leonard Snart did not normally find himself in such disarming circumstances. Yet, after Barry had hightailed it out of the scene, Len stood completely immobile for 152 seconds. Mouth agape, and heart furiously throttling against his ribcage. It didn’t help that his pants felt like torture on his erect cock, that he was even aroused was an issue all by itself.

_Did he really just…_

They had both completely lost it, almost having gone too far. Len shouldn’t have been willing to get chummy with his nemesis, he had set rules against such idiocy. Rules were made for a reason, and these same rules applied to Mick and Lisa who followed them diligently. And here he was, the rule maker, practically breaking one of the top ten on the list. He hadn't wanted for things to progress in that direction, at all. But it was like he couldn’t stop himself. Why couldn’t he stop?

Barry was the young man who had become Central City's white knight. The kid was the enemy. They fought for opposite sides, for different goals. The Flash was a hero, Len was very far from that. There was no way around that fact, even if they had decided to fuck against the alleys wall. Nothing would have changed other than a single moment of release.

Yet, there were unimaginable things going through his mind, rules be damned. Hot breath blowing against his ear as the kid encouraged Len to fight him off. A firm body pressing tightly against his own, the ghost of Barry’s lips caressing his neck. The electricity crackling between them as they touched. Len tries to pretend nothing had ever happened. But he can’t stop.

Wasn’t it something that his nemesis had the hots for him? He felt flattered, really. Yet, the whole scenario was wrong from the start. They had been fighting about what constituted as their normal bantering, and then it had escalated in a rate that should have led to bloodshed. The kid should have been an ice statue at the moment.

Len’s blood begins to boil, his breath being sucked right out of him.

**_‘Are you just a sad little monster, Snart?’_ **

The malicious intent behind those words start to rebound through the inside of his skull. Len's fists clench at his sides as the fury from before takes possession of his thoughts. The more he thinks about the speedsters actions the less controlled he begins to feel. His arousal dies away quickly from that point on, his eyes closing tightly in the surmounting waves of indignation. What sort of stunt was this? How could the kid just start in on him, and then completely flip the switch from ‘You could be a hero, Snart’ to ‘You’re pathetic just like your father’?

_You say I’m better, but you just want to use me. You don’t see what I am, because I am the only one who can see it. There is no monster. There is just me._

Barry was right that Len was better than his father, he always had been. He was nothing like him, and he would no longer have to worry about the man having any power over his life. He hadn’t had to worry about that bastard getting a chance of touching his sister for months now. Len had been the battered boy left on the floor, but he would have taken a hit any day if it meant that his sister would remain safe. His body may have been repeatedly broken down, but he wasn’t some shell of a man. He wasn’t some little puppet being controlled by the fear of his father. Those strings had been cut.

_I didn’t have the luxury of a cozy childhood._

In the forefront of his mind he keeps replaying the scene over and over, every conception he had of the Flash thrown out of the window. It all seemed so far fetched, and maybe it was. Wild eyes avoiding his own and the awkward back peddling of the speedster before the man had run from a criminal he had within his grasp. He let Len get away with a major theft. None of it made sense, but Len knew that there was something wrong with the kid. Perhaps he had encountered Bivolo and he was whammied with something other than anger. But, did Bivolo even have any other tricks up his sleeve? How much control did he even have from his pathokinesis?

_I’ll have to ask him about it later._

In the background of his mind he notes that he was hearing Mick move around in pain. That the man was moving unsteadily down the alley towards him. His fists unclench and he tries to control his rampant emotions, he doesn’t want to tip Mick off that there was a possible problem.

Did Mick see? He isn’t sure.

Does he need to tell Mick about this mess? How would he even begin to explain how they got away from the speedster? Should he just be blunt and say that the kid had run away after feeling Len up a bit? That he had let the kid even get the chance to touch him, that for a short moment Len wanted to get fucked senseless by some kid? Should he lie about it and say that he had given the kid a beating to remember, that they had won this round? Len wasn’t too sure, but he knew that Mick would say something if he caught on that he was being deceived. Mick’s gruff voice rings out in question.

‘What the hell happened? Where’s the Flash?’

Good, it seems like Mick was clueless on what had just transpired. Sighing, Len turns slowly toward his partner. Now wasn't the time for this conversation, so it was best to direct it to something a little less startling. Irritated, he lies through his teeth.

‘He took off, I guess something bigger came up.’

Mick leans heavily against the wall, his gun hanging limply within his grasp. His goggles sit a foot or so away. Its frame twisted, both lenses broken into hundreds of jagged shards which littered the ground. Len glances at the darkening bruise spread across his friends face before finally making eye contact. Mick looks like he was rammed by a truck. Chances were also good that he had a concussion if the sluggishness and lack of balance meant anything.

_Can I fool him just this once?_

‘You’re telling me that we were let off the hook?’

Len casually saunters over to his cold gun before bending over to pick it up. He can feel Mick's eyes on his back as he holsters the weapon. He spins around quickly and stalks back to the injured man, a decrepit grin set into place.

‘You could say that. We got lucky today, Mick.’

Len pulls Mick from the wall as he helps support the man. They need to get out of here before they get caught by the local authorities. He was confident that they hadn’t triggered any alarms, but better safe than sorry. Mick grunts as he struggles to keep up with Len's brisk pace. A rough laugh vibrates against Len's side before Mick rumbles incredulously, his gun swinging in a slow loop in front of them.

‘You call this lucky? The kid threw a single punch and I can't help but think that it's amazing my head is still attached.’

Mick is still gesturing lazily with his gun as he fades off. Len attempts to remain indifferent even as his lip twitches at how ridiculous the night had been. His partner definitely needs to be seen by someone, the Flash had really done a number this time. On both of them, except Len wasn’t sure whom he should pity more. Probably Mick.

‘It’s adorable how much you can complain, especially since we managed to get away this time.’

They were making good time as they shuffled through the dark streets. That is until Mick trips over his own feet when they cross into another unlit alley. Both of them are suddenly dragged into a large pile of garbage and folded up boxes. They both holler as they make impact with the stinking filth. Something wet touches the back of Len’s ear, and his goggles wade into the deep abyss of trash.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’

Len gasps in mortification as a gloved hand slaps against his chest, a smear of _something_ being wiped into the fabric of his parka. Wide eyed, Mick attempts to pull himself to safety, strong legs kicking garbage up into the air. He wasn’t helping at all. It was like they were at sea, and they were just swimming in trash instead of water. A meatball smacks Len in the eye, and he finds himself wanting to strangle the other man.

‘Get me out of this shit!’

With one eye open, Len struggles beside the other man. He fights desperately to find a way out of the split open bags, but it just seems endless. Mick is in an uproar as he seems to sink into someones leftover soup. Cussing under his breath, Len rolls frantically towards the pavement. He meets the rough surface with open arms. He wants to kiss the ground.

_I made it._

Pushing himself up into a kneeling position, Len frantically wipes at his eyes with the inside of his sweater. Mick is still cursing loudly. They needed to get themselves together before someone called the cops for a loud disturbance. He was convinced that the headline for that capture would be along the lines of ‘Captain Cold and Heatwave caught dumpster diving!’

‘Quiet, Mick!’

‘Well, fucking help me up!’

Stiffly, Len stands. He frowns down at Mick for a long moment as they silently communicate their disgust at the situation. They were both covered in a vast array of garbage cuisine. To be honest, he doesn’t know who was worse off. It was a close thing. Long noodles cling to the sleeve of Len’s parka as he pulls Mick back to his feet, their gloved hands slippery with whatever horrific concoction had been stewing within the trash bags. Breathing laboriously from his mouth, Len quips.

‘Well, what a great bonding moment. We should do this again sometime.’

Eyes twinkling with growing mirth, Mick questions.

‘You think that this is funny?’

Len can't help himself as he chuckles lightly at the inquiry.

‘I thought you were light on your feet, Mick?’

Mick smirks in obvious amusement as he unsteadily digs through the garbage in search of his heat gun.

‘Oh, I am. I could dance easily into next week.’

Grunting, Mick pulls the gun out from underneath the garbage wreckage they had managed to survive.

‘Yeah, not sure if I believe that.’

‘Believe what you want, but I’m telling you that it’s true.’

Len pulls Mick against his side once again, the other man’s arm holding tightly to his shoulder. The heat gun now properly holstered, they began their trek. There was still a lot of ground to cover.

Slowly, they make their way back to their planned safe house. Mick is still walking with sea legs, and Len is worried about how badly he was injured by the Flash. But for the first time in months both he and Mick seem to be laughing freely as they bicker about the rotting food covering them from head to toe. Len feels lighter, even as the Flash waits stubbornly in the back burner of his consciousness.

Today wasn’t one of their best days, but somehow that didn’t matter much. Hopefully Lisa had made it safely back without a hitch. They could really use a win after all of this. Len could use a win, something he could rub in the Flash’s face. Something to help the speedster remember that they were enemies.

_I need him to let go._

_Please, let me go._

 


	3. Burning Fields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a Barry chapter would be nice right about now. Hope you all enjoy!

Sweat rolled slowly from Barry's hairline. Its wet drops turning pink as it dripped off his face in thin trickles, which landed quietly onto the sink his hands were clutching desperately. The white porcelain surface once unblemished, now marred with deep spiderweb cracks. And blood, so much blood. Broken pieces of glass littered the inside of the basin, and scarlet lines ran down the wall where a mirror hangs shattered. The frame broken, sitting precariously, waiting to fall. A long sliver of the reflective pane remains. Mocking.

The remnants of a cup and soap dish lay shattered on the floor. His feet cut by the knife-like points which he hadn't bothered to avoid as he tore through the small room. Toothpaste oozed snail paced down the wall near the toilet, and the remnants of the tube stick stiffly through the thick layer of plaster wall. Shredded pieces of the shower curtain drape dramatically across the floor and within the inside of the busted and fragmented tub.

Barry stands defensively in front of the sliver of mirror, both eyes glowing yellow. Breathing shallow, back taut with unleashed energy, Barry sneered at his reflection. He is mostly nude, his flesh covered thick with soot and the scorched remains of his suit. The mutinous flickers of lightning within himself had eased only slightly as Barry attempted to remain calm. Nothing was enough though, it felt as if nothing ever would be.

Long fingers shake intermittently and vibrate around the sink basin. He already had issues keeping himself from phasing through everything, his powers commanding their presence to be known. The world kept slowing down on its own, and then speeding back to normal as he stands in awareness of the inconsistency of time. This wasn't something that he could just hide away, keep secret. He was stuck. Control was diminishing at an accelerated rate, and he felt a hair width away from tearing the building down to the ground. He shouldn’t want to destroy his home, the home he was welcomed into. However, it is all he can imagine. He had to contain himself, but he couldn't stop the emerging madness. Nothing was working, he couldn’t put a hold on his powers. They were not terminating on command, he was now a loose cannon. Barry had been thrown into a continuous state of motion, one way or another. And a persistent state of arousal. Fuck, he was so hard.

_I'm the monster. It has always been me._

He was on fire, his insides felt as if they were smoldering, or liquefying. And there was so much anger, and it just kept on building from seemingly nothing. And then there was the consistent waves of arousal that assaulted him, the lack of relief. He presses himself against the cool surface of the sink, and muffles a moan with one of his bloody hands. Teeth bite into the palm, the pressure enough to break the skin. The pain should shake him from the pleasure. Yet it is better, so much better than it had the right to be. Barry arches back, his hips thrusting against the outside curve of the pedestal sinks basin. His cock is slick with precum, and it slides wickedly against the smooth surface.

It isn’t enough. He’d rather feel flesh. Barry shuffles backward, his back hitting the hard wood of the bathrooms door. The frame rattles on its hinges, perhaps it won’t hold. It does, as he slides down slowly. Barry’s legs splay open as he takes himself in hand, his tight grip sliding at a ruthless pace. The blood staining his palm had become slightly tacky, but it still slid easily enough across his swollen flesh. He wanted to feel disgusted at the red staining his cock, but all he could think of was the moan he coaxed from Snart. Of how badly he wanted to fuck the other man against that alley wall tonight. Barry imagines the tight heat of Snart’s ass, the cruel curl of the man’s tongue on his cock. On how Barry wanted to enter him nice and slow, how he wanted to make the other man beg and whine. Barry throws his head back, it shouldn’t remind him of Cold, but it does. Wood splinters around his head like a halo. Sharp pieces imbed themselves into his shoulders mostly as he moans in unfiltered ecstasy, the pain seemingly nonexistent. And it is just enough to make him cum into his slowing hand. It feels good, impossibly good. He slouches against the door, sated.

The pleasure fades quickly, and the heat is all but gone now. Barry stares in disgust at the mess in his hand for a moment, before he gets off the floor so he can wash his hands. More glass splits the skin of his heels as he crosses the floor, but he doesn’t feel a thing. He lets the cold water wash away his sin, the blood and cum spiraling around the broken pieces of the mirror. Green eyes stare back accusingly within the mass of glass inside of the sink. So many eyes, so many fears. The snarl from Snart as he had aimed his cold gun at Barry in absolute fury.

_I’m losing it._

Barry feels revolted. He had wanted Captain Cold, and the other man had for some reason given in, had wanted the erotic touch of Barry’s gloved hands for a few short moments. But it hadn’t been right. It was completely off from either of their usual behaviors, it wasn’t a part of their built up narrative. They were enemies, and Barry had only just gained a grudging respect from the man as it was. And now? Who knows, he might have ruined their deal. He just had some sort of messed up sexual breakdown, and the show runner of his fantasy was Leonard Snart. It didn’t bother him that it was a man, more that it was someone he had never even felt an ounce of sexual interest over, until tonight. A professional thief, a murderer, someone who happened to be one of Barry’s greatest enemies. He would do anything to avoid the man at this point, especially considering he just jacked himself off thinking about his nemesis.

He’d been feeling messed up for a few weeks now, but he hadn’t wanted to tell Cisco. Everything felt wrong, but he thought he had a handle on it. Until he caught sight of Cold. As a result he had nearly taken Snart apart then and there in that alley. And that could become troublesome, poisonous for both he and Snart. Because, what if it did happen again? Now he was afraid he wouldn’t have a choice on getting Cisco’s help. Barry was dangerous, and his powers had been getting out of control. Had been out of control after he had run away from Cold, when he was with the older man.

What did Snart think, now that all of this had come to pass? It hadn’t been appropriate considering the escalation leading to their near sexual confrontation. Barry cringes as he remembers the bitter words he spat at the man, how dark Snart’s eyes had become. The way Snart had been aiming to maim and kill as he was first pushed against the wall. Both of them had been furious. Violence had been building at a volatile level, until something finally snapped. Barry should have been afraid, but he kept pushing. He had been itching for a fight, wanted to make Snart eat the dirt. Until he didn’t.

Something inside of him just wanted to take the man. And it had been so dangerous, especially how he had pressed himself against the other man, unashamed at the time, his erection hot and heavy between them. Snart had seemed surprised, but he had warmed up quickly to what was happening. Barry is thankful for that in a way, but it still wouldn’t settle right. It didn’t matter that Cold had ground his hips against Barry, the other man’s cock unmistakably hard. Barry shouldn’t have touched him, why did he want him so badly? Cold should have been pushing him away, should have tried to kill him when Barry had started his groping session. He should have pushed, said no, it should have stopped. It hadn’t happened though, not until they had been interrupted by the pained sounds coming from the man’s partner in crime. Heatwave had been there to stop a huge mistake. Barry would be forever grateful.

It was for the best, he wasn’t thinking clearly. And now he knows there was something seriously wrong. All of the buildup from earlier was gone, as if it had never happened. However, it had been catastrophic when he had been searching for some sort of catharsis.

When Barry broke away from Snart and gained control of himself, he ran. His body and mind turned on to auto pilot, and he sped irrationally throughout Central City. And when that hadn't seemed like enough, he kept on going. Nowhere he went seemed to hold refuge from the burning aches, or the building power thrumming through his body. He just kept on running, until he suddenly found himself stopping somewhere remotely familiar, the badlands. The detonation point of Firestorm when Ronnie and Martin were finally able to separate from one another. Barry had stood in the exact spot of their separation, and had wanted nothing more than to destroy something. It was completely irrational, but he felt the red hot seed of indignation flare-up deep within his heart. Energy crackled around him, it had become a living twisted thing. It hadn’t stopped developing even as he backtracked to a less desolate location. A place with targets.

Lightning had built from his hands, and he had thrown it angrily at a single tree near the badlands. Long splinters of wood had rained down from the sky, branches exploding outward from the sudden hit of power. It hadn’t been enough to quell the simmering dysphoria, so he built up more power within himself and unleashed on the open land. Fire and electricity had licked through the sparsely wooded land, and Barry could only watch in frustration at the destruction. It wasn’t enough, so he had moved on to more wooded land. It had taken over an hour for him to finally stop throwing bolts of lighting, before he had become sick of the rush of energy being pushed from his body. He had stood watching miles of landscape burn, and had thought he should have been devastated by the reckoning force held within himself. However the only thing he could feel at the time was the throb of his cock. And that was what had made him confused and afraid, the sirens call of unwanted pleasure. The allure of a frightful enemy just miles away, the cauldron of desire that had been stewing unbeknownst. A crooked smile, and a ruthless tongue.

He had been tempted at the time to fuck into his hand and get it over with. But it had seemed that it was something unnecessary, something inconvenient. Unfortunately it appears that it was the leading issue of whatever was wrong with him, the outcome of something beyond him. Barry had wanted help, but he was a mess. It wasn’t long before he came to realize that his suit had deteriorated to almost nothing. That he was covered in the carnage of his needless rampage. Something was wrong, but by that point it hadn’t mattered, he had done enough. Help would have to wait. It had been time for him to go home.

Scorched and burning lands were extinguished in the matter of a precious few seconds, but he had done spectacular damage. It would be a miracle if nobody noticed, but he had a feeling it would be seen soon enough. Miles of land now resting barren from fire wasn’t something to be ignored. He had done that. In the blink of an eye Barry had run from the scene, energy crackling from his feet. He flew like a bat out of hell, and in minutes found himself locked inside of the bathroom which he now sullenly stands.

He apparently hadn’t spent himself as much as he had initially assumed, if the state of the house’s bathroom was anything to stand by. Once he had seen himself in the mirror, he had found his fist going through it. If that wasn’t enough he had wrecked most of the room in a whirlwind of movement, and then he had fouled it with his blood and the seed of his loins. He would laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation appeared, but he knew he was in for a world of hurt. Barry would have to replace the bathtub and sink. Buy a new mirror, and tend to the wall. How he would explain the damage to Joe, he had no idea. But for now he had control, for now he knew the people around him were safe. That he wouldn’t do something else he would regret. That he wouldn’t be throwing Snart against the nearest hard surface. Now he knew he just needed to get help, once he was done cleaning up he would give a call to Cisco, and see if he could get checked out. Hopefully together they would find something, or else Barry would be forced to think of a plan in order to stop himself from going out of control if the situation arose once more. He couldn’t afford it, and he wasn’t willing to become the powder keg just moments from blowing. Today had proven he couldn’t lose himself, if the stranger in the mirror had anything to show for it.

Barry shivers as he looks himself in the eyes of his reflection. They are still green. He can’t help but think, for how long? He cleans up and restores the bathroom in record time. His sins wiped clean, and the evidence of his destruction swirling down the drain.

Laying against the frame of his mattress, Barry hits send on a simple text message.

**We might have a problem.**


	4. It lurks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len and Mick still haven't made it to safety.  
> Hope you all enjoy where this chapter goes.

Mick and Len had made good time escaping the scene from the museum. Their most daunting issue so far had been avoiding the several police patrols scouring the area. Both unmarked and standard issue cruisers had been driving slowly through the narrow back streets of Central City. Growing sick of ducking for cover at every passing light, Len suggests an alternative to the dangerous streets. Grudgingly Mick had agreed, the man still not up to speed after being tossed into a brick wall. Too many close encounters made them both weary of capture, and hiding might not be enough next time. They were not fast enough for a chase at this point. And then there was Len’s deal with the Flash.

_**No one must die, Snart.** _

The road is empty as Len half drags Mick through a rundown railroad tunnel. Their path is pitch black, the lights having been broken decades ago. Len finds the small path leading to an unused utility tunnel with practiced ease. Stopping in front of a hidden door, Len pulls a small flashlight from the inside of his parka. He passes it to Mick who holds it with shaking hands.

‘Hold it steady, Mick.’

‘Fuck off.’ The other man mutters under his breath.

The dim light chops back and forth erratically over the door, it will have to do. Using the other man as counterbalance, Len kicks in the decrepit door with two swift hits. The newly installed lock of the door breaks through, and the strike plate is pulled completely from the door frame. Its short screws having made the job easy work, Len had personally installed them just in case of emergencies. He will have to come back and replace it within the next day. No need to alert any snoopers of this paths presence. Mick huffs impatiently. _As if he could have done it better. Prick._

Grunting, Len leads the way inside as the two men walk between the shabby wooden frame that is now a splintered wreck. Inside they take an immediate turn right and walk down a sloped pathway that leads into a long network of tunnels. Their way out.

The old overhead ceiling of the tunnel is arched, and the pathway expands five meters across. Old telephone raceway cables hang exposed as the old conduit tubing hangs limply from the wall, black scorch marks cover the wall in wide sections. The thick concrete underfoot has long cracks, and as they reach the bottom of the slope their boots become submerged with cold water that sits stagnant due to poor drainage. One of the main reasons the facility was no longer used was the piss poor planning behind the tunnels, and the very real likelihood of the concrete walls caving in from the low grade materials they had initially used during its production. Something about the ventilation system being poor also comes to mind, and a literal mountain of other issues. Of course the whole tunnel was prewar built, so standards had changed from then to now. This specific tunnel had been declared a hazard nearly thirty years ago though after several electrical technicians were killed when the power lines they had been working on malfunctioned due to tampering. The rigged circuit created an electrical explosion that surged a huge blast of energy throughout the lines, causing the operating transformers to overload and explode. It would have cost the city millions to fix all of the damage, but they dropped all funding after the completion of a new tunnel just a mere mile away. And that is where he and Mick were heading.

The tunnel they have been walking through widens further as they enter a split path, one side leading towards the newer tunnel. Only two hundred feet until they reached the active line. Looking down at their feet as they stepped through the murky water, Len is taken off guard when his side is gripped harshly by his partners gloved hand. Mick pulls them to a complete stop, his body leaning curiously towards the pipe to the left of their intended destination. The other man’s breathing grows harsh, and his lips part in bewilderment. Both of them become still in the immediate silence, and Len’s heart starts pounding erratically as he looks towards where the man is staring. The light is jerking erratically as something moves deep inside of the nearly pitch-black tunnel. It is big. Before he can identify what he is seeing, a blood curdling scream echoes throughout the tunnel. Without thinking, he grabs Mick’s hand and forcefully drags his pointer finger down to snap off the flashlight. Darkness overwhelms them completely. Mick drags in a startled breath, a single broken word wrangles its way out of his mouth though. 

‘Fu-‘

Len’s hand clamps tightly over Mick’s mouth. The other man had nearly thrown out a long string of expletives, had almost given away their position. They need to be silent, and they need to get out of this place right now. Pulling his hand away slowly, he pulls them away from the horrid screams. He isn’t confident they can take on whatever is down there.

Sweat drips down Len’s face, and his muscles are prepared for an imminent attack. Mick’s arm is tense around his shoulder, and his pace had grown more coordinated out of necessity. They creep through the other tunnel, the water sloshing lightly against their boots. Len guides them swiftly away until the path narrows into a small cross section. It was time for a detour. From what he can remember, to their immediate right is a steel ladder which leads to one of the active subway platforms.

Blindly Len brushes his hand up and down the wall nearest them until he finds one of the steel rungs. He pushes Mick up first, the man grunting as he pulls himself up. Fear makes the injured man scale the steps faster than Len thought him capable. The screaming had stopped forty-seven seconds ago. The last choked off sound bouncing repeatedly against the concrete walls. Whatever was down that other pipe had finally quieted down, and that was bad news. They might not have enough time to get away.

A loud thud echoes down through the tunnel suddenly. A chill of fear creeps through Len’s spine. He pulls out his cold gun and nearly jumps out of his skin as another series of thuds echoes down the network. It was coming, fast. He begins to climb with just one hand on the rung, his body straining from a growing urgency to escape their current situation. The tunnel had been a mistake.

The cold gun points towards the open tunnel, Len’s finger already prepared to pull the trigger. He is directly underneath Mick’s wet and dripping boots, the water making the rungs slick. Len desperately wishes the man would go faster. They are so close, and he is positive that whatever is down there already knew they were attempting to get away. They possibly have twenty seconds remaining before it is on top of them. Len drops all pretense of control as he yells.

‘Go Mick! GO!’

Generic yellow light billows down the shaft of the ladder as Len’s partner pushes open the manhole’s cover. Mick pulls himself through the opening, his frantic voice barely registering.

‘I’m going dammit!’

Mick hisses above him. His large hands covering his ears just as a loud bellow echoes right below them. An ominous voice invades Len’s mind.

‘I see you.’

Pain shoots through him as the sinister voice continues to slither through his brain. Len wants to scream, but he grits his teeth instead.

‘Come here, so I can rip the soft flesh from your bones.’

Len snarls in frustration at the violation of his thoughts, it was trying to disarm them through some sort of telepathy or something. But they are too close to escape, they wouldn’t fall here. Whatever the creature was, it was both smart and deadly. But could it take on the frost? Len pulls the trigger of the cold gun and aims blindly into the shadows. He misses the mark, just as a hulking creature jumps halfway up the ladder. One of its large hands clench a steel rung for support, while the other reaches ferociously for Len’s foot. Too close. Something touches his boot. Len can only see the illumination of light reflecting from his cold gun as he pulls the trigger once again. He prays that it works.

A tireless scream of pain bubbles inside his head as whatever he hit with the cold gun falls heavily onto the concrete. Its incessant assault of his mind cuts off abruptly, and Len rushes up the rest of the ladder. Mick is hollering loudly, as Len vigorously drags himself to safety.

‘CHRIST! What the hell was that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Move the hell over already.’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’

Mick pushes the cover back onto the manhole as soon as Len’s feet exit the tunnel. The larger man then backpedals away, his face pale and brow slick with sweat. Len stands quickly while simultaneously holstering his cold gun. Hopefully whatever was down there wouldn’t be getting back up.

‘Things are heating up, we’ve got to get out of here.’

‘Give me a minute.’

Heart pounding erratically Len cradles his head gently between his hands, he takes a few deep breaths as he attempts to push away the terror coursing through his veins. Blue eyes numbly take in the sight of fresh spilt blood slathered across his boot. It almost had him. Len looks away and takes a quick glance around the brightly lit platform. He notices they have a building audience. Great, Mick’s yelling must have drawn unneeded attention to their position. The subway platform contained several curious onlookers who were waiting for their next train home. They must have extended the running time of the trains recently. _That’s not good_. Out of the corner of his eye he takes notice of two security guards as they run across the platform, their shouts animated with confusion. They may have already called for backup. Mick grabs Len’s arm, as he urges them both backward. Grimly his partner warns.

‘Len. We’ve got to go. Now!’

Mick throws his arm around Len’s shoulder and they sprint down the platform. Several people have to jump out of their way as they climb up the staircase leading to the outside world. Out of breath, they stop running when they duck into a dark alley nearly a mile away. They kneel behind a dumpster and listen for any pursuers. No one had followed them. Several more minutes pass before they dart back onto the sidewalk, their pace quickened by a growing concern of necessity. Len hopes that the creature in the utility tunnel is still down for the count.

Only a few more minutes until they reach the safe house.

Garbage litters the streets, but they manage to silently roam through the city without any further issue. Mick is sagging heavily against him, the man pale and unsteady on his feet. He looks like he is about to hurl all over the road. Mick wasn’t up for any further challenge, but with some finesse on Len's part and just plain luck, they finally make it.

It pays to have cash on hand, because Len got a hell of a bargain during the buildings foreclosure sale. Standing in front of a three-storey Brownstone apartment complex, the two men scan the empty streets for prying eyes. Apparently it seems clear to Mick, as Len hears a satisfied sigh of relief. Confident that nobody had followed them, Len unlocks the deadbolt of the main entrance. They push their way in, and Len turns the handle to engage the deadbolt back into place. Gently, Len coerces Mick inside the entryway. The normally resilient man is wobbly against his side, weak. Len grows progressively more worried at the state of his partner. He had to push Mick much more than the man should have been pushed while traveling through the city with a probable concussion. His worry shows with a few quiet words.

‘We’re almost there.’

Mick weakly squeezes Len’s shoulder in comfort. It will have to do.

‘Yeah, I can see that.’

Taking the apartments elevator, they swiftly arrive on the third floor. Walking through the elevator door, they finally enter their current base of operations. Len eases the other man through the living room, past the kitchen, and into a short hallway that leads into one of the spare rooms that Mick had claimed as his own.

They pass Lisa on the way, she is fast asleep and sprawled across the couch. Her clothes from the heist were still on, and her stiletto boots are digging dangerously into the upholstery of the leather couch. A finger was loosely held over the gold guns trigger, she is a woman ready for battle. Somehow his precious sister had managed to find time to take a nap while both he and Mick were out dealing with the Flash. Oh, and the telekinetic beast in the tunnel.

Cute.

Len had also spotted ‘The Magpie,’ the prize of the night. The painting was leaning precariously against the coffee table, just an arm’s length away from his sister. If she really stretched. Art conservationists would be having a field day if they saw the conditions it was being stored in. Len grins at their expense. That was right before both him and Mick had walked into the converted bedroom slash workroom. It was five steps upon them entering that Mick rumbled thickly.

'I don't feel so good, Len.'

Of course, that was the only warning he had before Mick vomited, the man sliding out from under Len's arm. Taken aback, Len watched as the larger man sat on his knees and curled into himself as he shook violently. The sounds were completely vile. Mick was going to be pissed that he ruined his own rug.

From that point on the night flew by in a blur. Lisa had woken after hearing the sounds of violent retching, and she had helped Len drag their partner to the bathroom. Mick had been stuck near the toilet for forty minutes as he suffered from his brain injury, and then when it seemed the demons had passed, Len had Mick sit with Lisa on the couch. Complaining loudly, Mick petulantly mumbled under his breath that he didn’t need a babysitter. Len disagreed. Lisa had cringed comically at the smells emanating from the whining man, her nose scrunching in disgust due to the spoiled food being rubbed off of Mick's clothing and onto the couch. She pulled the suffering man close to her nonetheless, their shoulders touching as she tossed on the television. Walking by slowly, Len places his hand gently over Lisa’s shoulder. Silently the two siblings signal their mutual understanding of the situation. Mick would not be allowed to rest.

‘Keep an eye on him, Sis.’

‘You know I watch our own.’

Pulling away, Len left them alone as he wandered to his own bedroom. Locking the door behind himself, Len strips quickly, his smelling clothes thrown swiftly into a laundry hamper. Sitting, he pulls off his moist boots one by one, the blood on his right boot had mostly dried over the leather. Just looking at it makes him feel sick to the stomach, the bloodcurdling screams replaying vividly back to him. Could he have saved someone tonight? Somehow he doubts it would have mattered, if the crunching sounds had anything to do with it. Len sighs, the screams stopping just as they had in the tunnels. He decides to toss the boots. The sound of them dropping into the waste basket is relieving.

With a fresh change of clothing, he jumps into the shower. Three hundred and ninety-four seconds pass. Len still felt disgusting as he scrubbed over half a bottle of liquid soup across his body, the fresh scent of lemon and basil wafting throughout the room. It was just the fact alone that he had been rolling through days worth of old garbage that got to him though, sickened him. The sight and smell of his bloody boot, had the same affect. When he is finally content, and the water had run cool Len turns the water off with pruned hands.

The bathroom was covered in a curtain of steam, and the air was cool enough to give him goosebumps. Walking over to the mirror nude, Len wipes away the condensation covering the glass and stares at himself with tepid interest. His skin was flushed, raw, and his eyes were drooping from exhaustion. There also lurks the residual look of fear. Fear for what was out there, and a loathing for what was to come. There are blossoming bruises on his arms, and the ghostly sensation of gloved nails dragging across his flesh. Things had been complicated during the night, confusing. Not only was there the debatable sanity of one Barry Allen, but now his little group of Rogues had more obstacles to overcome, and it left him feeling heavy. They had a new enemy on the streets, something unfathomable. Len squeezes his eyes shut as he reimagines the slithery feel of the creatures voice echoing within his mind. He wonders if Mick had heard the same voice. Concerned for things that had seldom been of issue, people he never had to stress over, Len wanted to brood in the silence for a while longer. But, there was more to come. More issues that needed his time. Len turns away from his reflection, and walks out of the doorway and traverses through even more vexation.

It was five in the morning.

* * *

 

It was six o’clock when they decided to toss Mick into the shower, Len had stood waiting outside the door in case of any further issues. Mick was still feeling the impact from Scarlet’s powerful throw. It is worrying.

When the larger man opens the bathroom door, Len observes the excessive residual water clinging to his fresh clothing. His eyebrows rise in question, but Mick huffs and brushes past him. Len makes Mick go rest on the lounge in his own workroom. He might as well get comfortable. Somehow, Len convinces Lisa that she needs to deal with Mick. His words being that since she had fallen asleep on the job, she had to deal with the repercussions. Of course, it also took some offhanded bribery. But he was used to a little bit of bribery, it ran in the family.

Using a false name, Len uses one of his disposable cellphones to book an appointment on Mick’s behalf. The receptionist, Beverly, scolds him for delaying the visit, and says this medical office didn’t care if the appointment came in short notice. Better to have things checked out than deal with the fallout. He couldn’t agree more.

Ten minutes roll by before he checks on his sister and Mick, he finds them playing a simple card game of war. He watches them for a minute before dropping the news. Luckily Len is spared from the usual complaining as he solemnly informs Mick that he would be going to a medical clinic in the early evening. Mick just rolls his eyes, and mumbles something threatening under his breath. Len just ignores him, used to it.

Afterwards, Len finds time to dispose of Mick’s soiled throw rug, they will just end up purchasing a new one. He’ll also have to get some new boots when they manage a run. Maybe he will get Mick a new pair also. Len wasn’t sure he could handle the stink of the other man’s any longer. And now that they were wet? Get rid of them.

He is positive that Mick will thank him for such a gracious courtesy. Or not.

* * *

 

Len slowly wades into the dark waters of his mind, screams following into his dreams. He wants to escape the eerie tunnel he found himself dropped inside, but he is lost in the pitch black maze of concrete. Something touches his face, and a pitiful voice calls his name. Light suddenly shines from above, like a spotlight. Fingers slide down Len’s face in a mockery of reverence, Barry stares wordlessly at him.

 ** _Join me._**  
  
The other man had never opened his mouth. Something else was with them. Len reaches for the speedster trying to pull him away, but it is too late. A furious roar echoes behind Barry, and the man is thrown like a rag doll, his body collapsing in a broken pile against the wall. Barry starts to scream. And scream, and it won’t stop.

Len runs. He runs, and runs, but he can’t find his way out. It’s so dark, why is it so dark?

Something grabs onto his foot.

He screams himself awake.

It is one in the afternoon, and he is safely bundled within his comforter. But he can’t stop the last desperate cry for help. There is a pounding on the door right before it swings open. Lisa is armed with the gold gun, ready to take on the monsters under the bed. But it’s too late, it already got to him.

_That monster is just some twisted thing that wasn't ever loved or cared for, that was beaten down over and over until all it knew was pain and suffering. It doesn't want to be your friend, it just wants to rip your throat out. Devour your misery to add to its own._

He is safe at the moment, but for how long? When did the monster stop waiting under the bed and come out to play?


	5. Pappy Van Winkle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start heating up. Lots of violence, and a little bit of the smut. Be warned, there is a cliffhanger.

_Nights are so hard without you._

Gagged and bound, Snart sits naked on his knees. His cock is engorged, and his lips are swollen around a blue silicone ball gag. Both of his nipples are clamped, and the chain connecting them is pulled taught from the tension of a black strap that connects to a thick cock ring. Snart’s head is upturned towards Barry, both eyes fluttering as he squirms in ecstasy. Barry can hear the subtle vibrations of the butt plug currently stimulating the bound man’s prostate.

The man’s muscles are bulging against his binds, his arms tied in a reverse prayer. Barry licks his lips as Snart’s cock leaks precum onto the wooden floor, a small puddle forming.

‘You look good on your knees, Snart.’

A low whine floods his ear, and all Barry wants to do is fuck himself into the man’s gaping hole. He drags the tip of his forefinger across Snart’s bottom lip, the other man trembles in excitement. Hot puffs of breath shoot heat up Barry’s arm.

‘I’m going to ruin you, and there is nothing that you can do.’

More precum slides down the man’s cock. Watching it makes Barry’s mouth water in anticipation.

‘Do you want me to fill you up? Fuck you until you’re loose and filled with my cum?’

Snart’s eyes close and the man moans as he shifts against his binds. The nipple clamps tighten as the man arches back slightly. He is gorgeous like this. Barry looks away from Snart, trying to gain control, his cock twitching with excitement.

A mirror from across the room catches Barry’s sudden undivided attention. Flickering yellow eyes leer wantonly back, and lightning flickers in the background of his reflection.

Boom, a short pause, boom. The hollow sound is similar to the bang of a taiko drum. Boom, boom, boom. A steady rhythm begins to build as the world around the mirror dissolves into a strobing lightning storm, not unlike that of the growing mirror’s reflection. Thunder rumbles around him, and his heart quakes to the beat of the growing waves of sound. They meld together, the world around him a cacophony of discordant bass. Barry covers his ears, and squints at the chaotic world around him. Snart is gone, faded into the deep abyss of his nightmare.

Everything stops. Sound and the flashes of lightening reaching the end of its peak, not even his heart seems to beat.

‘What are you Barry Allen?’

The mirror begins to crack, and blood pours from the shattered glass like an open wound. Barry stands in paralysis, unable to turn away. His mouth begins to move, loud and clear. But it isn’t his own. It was never his own.

‘How far are you going to fall, before you see it? Do you see it Barry Allen? What you are?’

He finds himself captured by the doppelgänger’s flickering gaze, it was curiously menacing. Lines of blood run thickly down his reflections face, both of his eyes now seemingly closed in rapture. Red drips slowly down his other selfs chin. It’s breaking apart now.

‘Have you figured it out yet?’ the reverberating voice probes.

Barry watches as he fades out of existence from the mirror’s realm. Jagged pieces of the mirror drop free from the frame, and fall into a pool of crimson. Only a single shard remains, within it is a single opening eye. Barry doesn’t want to see.

‘We are the same, you and I. You are me, and I am you. Together we are a whole, Barry Allen.’

Lightning flickers within his reflection as his eye begins to glow. It is red.

His mouth moves. The repugnant voice whispers in vile delight. ’We are one. There is no room for any others.’

The last broken shard falls.

White mist quickly shrouds Barry’s vision as everything is washed away towards the black sanded shores of his mind.

———

Barry wakes up around one o’clock, right before his alarm is supposed to go off. All memories of his dream were obliterated on awakening, only the residual feelings of unease and lust remain. Both of his shoulders are on fire and his cock is as hard as a rock. Moaning in distress Barry sits up, and his right hand glides underneath his black undershirt and over his sore flesh, confusion fuels the growing spark of concern burning within. He had lost it last night, but was that as deep as the rabbit hole went? Was it over, had he released the demons within? Barry is unsure.

Long fingers graze delicately against several small splinters of wood that had come from the bathroom door. There were pieces still embedded deep inside his skin. Apparently he had missed a couple of spots. He had been so exhausted after dealing with the bathroom’s restoration that the pain had been unnoticeable as he passed out in his bed during the early morning. But not before he had messaged Cisco. Oh, crap.

Red light blinks from the top of the phone resting precariously at the edge of his nightstand. Each flash is a silent reminder for him to check on possibly several missed messages. Barry grabs the phone, enters his password, and finds only one message from Cisco. His friend had responded early in the morning.

**Dude, meet me at the Labs and we’ll deal with it.**

Typing out a quick message, Barry informs his friend that he would be there soon. Not that he really wanted to be there at all, not after the mess he made of things last night. Would everyone know how off he was? Did they already know somehow, had he been acting strange before he left the labs? He had turned off the coms before he ran from Snart, so he knew that it hadn’t given him away. But he had been irritable, and confrontational most of the week. Spoiling for a fight. Did Caitlin or Cisco notice as he locked them away from hearing any further conversations? Would they question his moment of privacy with a known criminal? Could he even tell them he ran away from the criminals? Did they know about the fires near the badlands, could they guess that it was him? So many questions wrangle for his attention.

Barry sets the phone back down, his shoulders stinging as he stretches his arm out. The pain grounds him to the now. He refuses to tell them everything that transpired with Snart, aside from the unusual aggressiveness he exhibited. He’d also tell them of the surge of power that he had to blow off, the wicked bolts flying from his hands. The power that flourished from the core of his body, the lust for power. _**It wasn’t enough, he didn’t have enough power.**_

_Better deal with current problems now._

Pulling off his undershirt as he sits crosslegged on his bed, Barry begins to pull out all of the splinters that he can reach. Plucking them one by one, he builds himself a modest pile of wooden fragments. It was more than he had taken the time to remove before passing out. He’ll need help getting the ones that are just a bit too far down his back. He isn't sure on who to ask, afraid of asking Joe after destroying most the bathroom during the night. Not that Joe would ever know what had really transpired, aside from the fact that most of the things inside the room were brand new. Barry considers it a small blessing that Joe had the third shift for the past couple of weeks. It was also amazing how much help a person can get at six in the morning inside a Home Depot. The morning staff were definitely saints.

Barry hisses in discomfort as he pulls out another splinter. Why did he think it was a good idea to go slamming into things again? **_Power, Barry. Power._**

Caitlin was definitely the best option, however Barry didn't want to be asked too many questions regarding the damage running down his shoulder blades. Most of the wounds would be healed before he got there, but still. Caitlin would be able to see through his lies on how he got them, and that was concerning if he wanted to paint a prettier picture on his growing anger issues. With the last few bits of wood out of reach, he is sure that the punctured skin will be inflamed as his body keeps trying to heal itself. Undoubtedly though, it was failing because of the foreign material. The little pricks had to be looking worse than they were.

_I'm sure I'll hear enough about it._

Blood oozes from several of his now open wounds, he can feel as the thin trickles descend slowly slide down his long back. Barry throws the bloody bits of wood into his waste basket, his expression twisted in a grimace. A few of the pieces barely make it in from his casual throws across the room, but he manages. Barry doesn't want to get up, and his body is buzzing with need which hadn’t flagged away even through the pain. He ignores his erection and slowly wades into the memories of the electricity shooting through his fingertips, the residual adrenaline from touching Snart, the unsatisfying release as he came in the early morning. It felt like things were moving so fast on both sides of him. That he couldn’t keep up. Lost in time, he loses his arousal. Instead he is bathed in melancholy and confusion.

And now of course.

The timer next to his bed begins to beep. He needs to meet up with Cisco, figure out if something was actually wrong with him. _I’m alright, aren’t I?_

Barry carefully switches the timer off, and gets up from the bed his arms raising high as he stretched. It hurt, his skin taut in several places the splinters stinging. _Definitely will have to see Caitlin about this today_. Carefully his pulls his undershirt back on, trying to hide the evidence of mishap digging into his flesh.

Barry shuffles across his room, gathering a fresh change of clothes. On top of his dresser rests the remains of his suit, the red reinforced tripolymer burnt nearly beyond recognition. Even his mask had been licked by the flames of fire, and the energy that had burst from within himself. He had been a storm of reckoning, and he was still clueless on how he managed the damage. The fury. How was he going to tell everyone at S.T.A.R.S what happened?

_Crud, I'll have to tell Cisco the suit is beyond repair._

Frowning, Barry turns away and exits his bedroom. His clothes are nestled between his armpit as he attempts to close his door stealthily, his thoughts churning at having to explain away the damage to Joe. Hopefully he would be resting in his room, unaware of Barry making a break for it. He really didn't feel like explaining the problem away.

The sound of a door opening catches Barry’s attention, just as he manages to softly close his own. Flustered, he watches as Joe casually saunters out of his bedroom. They both make meaningful eye contact, and Barry knows he is about to hear it.

‘Have an exciting night, Barry?’

‘Hmmm, not really. Just another night of crime fighting. You know, the usual?’

Joe nods his head, as if he actually believed the crap Barry was trying to feed him.

‘So, since it was just another day out in the city, do you want to tell me what happened to our bathtub? Or how about the sink?’

Barry gulps audibly in the silence of the questions. He pulls away from his door, his clothes now held defensively in front of his chest. He’s got this.

‘Uh, well you see. There is an explanation, really. It’s, uh, rather complicated, and a little long winded. Not sure if you’d be too interested, so I’ll just give you the short version. I may have accidentally broken them.’

Barry laughs uneasily, both of his hands clutching desperately at his quickly wrinkling clothes. Joe’s left eyebrow raises in question as he crosses his arms across his chest.

‘You _accidentally_ broke the tub?’

‘Yep.’

‘And you somehow also managed to break the sink?’

‘Yeah. I mentioned it was on accident right?’

‘So what you’re telling me is that you managed to ruin both of these things? In one night?’

Frowning, Barry nods jerkily. _That isn’t all I destroyed last night._ His right hand waves dramatically as he vaguely explains. ‘I’m sorry, it just happened. Things got a little crazy in there last night. But, hey! Don’t worry, I replaced everything already.’

‘I saw when I got home. That’s why I’m asking about what happened.’

Barry scratches the back of his neck, and looks away from Joe’s cryptic gaze. ‘So…do you like the new tub?’

Joe sighs, a weak smile tugging his lips. Barry wants to sigh in relief, knowing that he is about to get off the hook for now. Instead he feels his stomach churn uneasily due to his ever expanding shame of ruining Joe’s bathroom in the first place. The older man had worked hard renovating the house only a couple of years ago, and now Barry feels as if he just spat in his foster dad’s face by soiling the man’s handiwork. Desecrating their home with wanton destruction. And _other_ things, Barry shudders.

‘It looks nice, Barry. Really. I just wish that you’d tell me what is going on, because I can see that you’re holding back something from me.’

‘I’m not?’

Skeptically, Joe counters. ‘You’re not?’

Completely frazzled, Barry backs away a few steps. ‘No?’ he meekly responds.

‘Okay, well when you get back from wherever you’re going this afternoon we can talk about it? Yes?’

Nodding vigorously, Barry agrees ‘Yeah, sure thing. We’ll totally do that the moment I get back. But I really need to get ready right now, so I’m just going to go and do that.’ He’s about to make his get away when the other man adds, ‘Oh, one more thing! You forgot to replace the door this morning.’ Joe has a strange little smirk on his face as he watches both of Barry’s eyes widen in surprise. _How could he forgot about the door?_ Barry just wants to sink into the floor. Before he can manage a response, his foster dad saunters back into his room. The clink of the door being pulled closed suggesting the end of their conversation.

Barry flees to the bathroom in embarrassment. God, could he have been more oblivious to his surroundings? He was so screwed, he wasn’t fooling anyone. Would they all catch on to the bigger picture?

He hopes not. Too much was lying underneath the surface.

**_Everything is going as planned._ **

———

Len feels like the living dead, a complete mess of nervous energy. Unfortunately due to his bizarre dream he is in a piss poor state. Waking up violently after only a handful of hours of sleep was more exhausting than it had the right to be. After Lisa had tried to blast away the nightmares with the gold gun, he was already through with the day. It had even been tiring watching the coffee maker drip his liquid energy. The coffee didn’t really help much either, not even as he finished off a pot by himself. He knew Lisa was worried, it had been years since he last had anything akin to night terrors. As if they didn’t have enough on their plate, now he’d definitely have to stock up on the good coffee.

_I could really use another cup._

So much to do, so little energy to do it. Yet, there was also the fact that he had too much internal stimulation circulating throughout his mind. Too many nagging worries on the why’s, and the what if’s. Too many thoughts regarding the growing issues the rogues would soon face. The enemies they had to keep in check, the enemies they would possibly make in the immediate future. The enemy lurking the dark tunnels underneath Central City. The Flash. Though Len really didn’t even want to think about him.

His dreams had dragged all of those growing insecurities to the surface. Yeah, he would rather stay awake and make plans. Keeping himself busy should be easy enough. They may have the painting on hand, but they had to up their game for the next heist. Last night had been a fluke, a scene from the twilight zone. It was luck that the Flash had been off of his game while thinking with his dick. Hopefully the kid had gotten his head back on straight, but Len had his doubts. He didn't want to be anywhere near Barry, didn't want to see those flickering yellow eyes. Didn't want to feel the electricity of the others brazen touch, feel the younger man's lips grazing his neck. Len didn't want the confusion, or the complications of whatever had taken hold of the speedster. Len didn't want to be overcome by the weakness he'd shown last night. He didn't want the man's current instability becoming hazardous to their ongoing deal. Len wanted to keep himself in top form, to get rid of the fledgling feelings spiraling in his subconscious. Weak little things that they are.

So the Rogues needed to become more meticulous in their coordination, and they needed to work on some sort of distraction that they could activate which would catch the Flash's attention. Something that would give them enough time to seize their next prize without the threat of Central City's local hero interfering. A plan to keep the younger man as far away as possible. They needed to get creative. It was time to set up another meeting with the other Rogues.

So much to do, so little time.

They also needed a plan to take on something bigger and badder than the city’s speedster. There was a monster out there, waiting in the dark underground. They couldn’t risk getting caught by it.

_God, the screams…_

In the end, it hadn’t mattered that he was feeling dead on his feet, or that Lisa had insisted she would be fine watching over their partner for a while longer. Or the fact that Len, apparently, looked like absolute shit. Was starting to look his age as she had bluntly stated. He felt like it, but it wasn’t enough to make him want to take another shot at resting. Not after the dream.

Besides, he has other plans now. Lisa had insisted as he first sipped his coffee, that she would be escorting Mick to the doctors at three o’clock. Grudgingly Len had given into her wishes. Not that he really had a choice to begin with. He had to surf through his territory and manage any issues brought on by the opposition. Make plans for the upcoming heist showcasing the newest members of the Rogues. Things of that sort. Bad guy stuff some would say. He had to be a leader first, a source of awe and inspiration for his ever expanding criminal posse. Everyone wanted to get into his business now that he was Captain Cold, and he had to show them that he lived up to his name. Everyone wanted a little taste of what he is, what he has. Of course if they came too close, he would make them freeze.

It is a little after two, before he decides to scout the area. After the rough night of superhero gropage, the rousing round of garbage Olympics, the spooky tunnel run, and Mick’s toilet breaking puke fest, Len was ready to get the hell out of the safe house. The apartment building was not as established as their other safe houses, so he had to be sure to get a feel for the area. Maybe while he was out he could pick something up for Mick as a get well gift, not that they would ever call it what it was. A quaint liquor shop was just down the street, only a couple of minutes away. Perhaps some Pappy Van Winkle would do the trick once the other man was feeling up to speed. It was either that or his usual shit whiskey. A happy splurge was in order.

Getting ready quickly, he left the sanctity of his bedroom with a plan already in the works. Just a couple goodbyes, and he was off. It hadn’t taken much time to get by his sister. Lisa had just waved him away as he passed by her in the hallway. She had been examining their loot which was now hanging on the wall, her face exhibiting a poignant mournfulness. _When did that get there?_ Maybe it reminded her of their childhood also, of the days before their life came to be as it was. Len let her be, respecting her space.

Entering the living room Len found Mick lounging on the couch. The man had looked at him irritably and grumbled something along the lines of, ‘Why can’t I stay home and make cookies with you?’ Len just picked up his wallet from the coffee table, and arched his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. It may have actually been Mick speak for, ‘Why are you throwing me under the bus? I’m fine, and I just want to stay home.’ It was easy enough to just walk by his friend and ignore the man fussing about this and that. Len could care less about the complaints, as long as his friend went to his checkup. Len stands by the coat rack and throws on his blue petticoat, concealing his cold gun that was strapped to his right thigh.

Before exiting their apartment Len quips out cheerfully, ’I’ll be back later tonight. Have Lisa send me a message when you get the result of your checkup. We’ll deal with the Flash once your up on your feet.’

Mick doesn’t have time to respond as Len swiftly shuts the door behind him.

Everything will be fine.

———

Trouble seemed to be following him these days.

A man, possibly mid thirties, blue eyes, walks purposefully into Len as he walks up to the liquor stores entrance. The man’s shoulder digs painfully into his own, and Len grits his teeth. Trying to keep on his stride he attempts to enter the building. Willing to forget the man’s carelessness. That is when he finds out that the other man is purposely digging his own grave. The man grabs onto Len’s bicep, and forcefully pulls him away from the door. The man looks amused as he tries to drag him off. Now Len is definitely pissed. Pulling away viciously, Len snarls ‘Get your hands off me.’

_I’m sick of people stepping all over me._

The Santini family had been scouting about a block away from the safe house. And Len had walked right into one of them.

‘Today isn’t your day, Snart.’ is the only warning Len gets as the man lunges towards him.

Len cringes in pain as a fist makes contact with his bruised arm. Sneering, Len grits out ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ This was the second time his arm had been assaulted within the past twenty-four hours. Barry had not been playing around when he had taken hold of him last night, and the evidence of fingerprints were thankfully covered by his sweater and petticoat. And now it would be even worse as some nameless thug made contact with the sore and tender flesh. Not that he packed much of a punch. Len could hit harder.

Suddenly Len is pushed from behind, as another man comes into the picture. Barely catching himself from tipping over, Len spins around and attempts to distance himself from more assailants than he had first assumed. There was a group of five men, each sporting tailored suits and crisply shined brogues. They were complete tools. What worried him was that this chance meeting was within the general viewing distance of the safe house, and that this group of goons had been waiting at the storefront of Mick’s preferred liquor store. If they knew this place, did they already know their exact location? Were Lisa and Mick in danger right at this moment? Len had a feeling it wasn’t a mere coincidence that they had shown up the morning after a reported successful heist, it felt planned. A possible stakeout had already been in the works. The Rogues might have been both watched and followed. He wonders if they had watched him shouldering Mick tightly against his side as they shuffled to safety last night. Had Len unknowingly showed them the way? He hadn't seen anyone, seen no lookout. Unless they had followed Lisa as she made her escape during the thick of the action with the Flash.

It couldn’t all be coincidental.

‘You boys want to play?’

‘We’re not here to play with you, tempting as it may be. You’ve been getting cocky Snart, and we don’t really appreciate what you’ve been doing in our neighborhoods.’ That blue eyed dick was the obvious leader of this shit.

‘So what, you’ve come to ice me? Is that it?’

The first man who managed to land a hit laughs jovially, like it was just some game. As if he and his buddies weren’t planning to possibly murder someone in open view of several witness watching from the inside of the Liquor store. Len smiles cryptically, he was going to crush them. Make them into ice statues. His fingers twitch against his concealed cold gun. Before he can unholster his weapon, the men around him start to circle around his position in a ‘V’ pattern.

‘You two,’ the leader points at two of the suited men vaguely. ‘Get him.’

Two Santini thugs close in around him, one with his fists raised and the other flicking open a serrated pocket knife. With bated breath Len waits for his cue, his fingers twitching at his side for a split second. The armed man lunges forward first, crowding into Len’s space. The knife is thrust towards his neck, the dark haired man swift and well trained. It is a close swing, and Len only just avoids having his throat sliced. He takes a step back, and prepares for the other attackers fist that is coming towards his chest.

Len roughly grabs onto the man’s wrist as the hand closes in. Easily he twists the man’s arm up, halting its swing. Using his free arm, Len jams in the attackers elbow towards the sky. The man screams shrilly as the arm breaks. Quickly he drops to the ground cradling the broken arm. Len kicks the man sharply in the head once, and watches satisfied as the screamer crumbles to the ground. Quiet. _Piece of cake._

In the background Len can hear his first attacker laughing still. What the hell was so funny?

Angrily, the man with the knife continues to pursue him undaunted, the sharp blade in his hands arcing through the air like the baton of a conductor. The tip of the blade manages to cut into Len’s arm after the forth swing, slicing through both fabric and skin. Blood splatters across the concrete, and soils his petticoat. Len hisses out furiously, ‘You owe me a new coat. I was rather found of this one.’ Blood coats his fingers as he grips his arm defensively.

‘You won’t need it. You’re going to be dead soon enough.’ Taunted the leader who had started the whole mess. Len can hear the man cackle again, and the knife wielder joins in awkwardly. It makes him uncomfortable that these men thought he was just a joke.

Nearly pushed against the Liquor store, he takes in his surroundings. His eyes dart from side to side making note of his competition. One down for the count, one about to go down, and the other three were lurking behind. It should be easy enough. The pain was nothing he couldn’t handle, his body kicked overtime with the adrenaline. He still had more fight left in him, that, and he had a plan.

_Ah, here he comes._

Len’s smile is completely feral as the knife wielder attempts to run him through with the blade once more. Timing was everything for this little trick. The knife is inches away as Len swings his body out of its path at the last possible moment, the man misses him completely. Unfortunately, the thug doesn’t catch on that this was just where Len wanted him. Nice and vulnerable with his back still turned to his enemy. Before the unbalanced man can catch his bearings, Len roughly pushes the man into the side of the store. Following closely, his body pins the struggling man into the unforgiving brick.

‘Come on Rick, you going to let Snart kick your ass?’ yells one of the other suits. Little did they know, they were all going to die here. Len will make sure of it.

The man kicks his leg out, only making minimal contact with Len’s shin. Grunting in discomfort, Len grabs the thugs head with both of his hands and slams the man’s face into the brick building. Once, twice, the knife drops. Len goes in for a third time for good measure. He lets go, and smirks triumphantly at the fact that he brought another man down. The body slides slowly to the ground, and blood runs down the brick wall.

Something crunches behind him.

He only manages to backpedal a few steps away from the limp body before he is pushed roughly by a third man joining the picture, taking advantage of Len’s divided attention. Only barely does Len manage to pivot himself out of range of being struck by the forth man warily joining in, an aluminum baseball bat flying over his head. _Where did he come from?_

The air whooshes right out of him as a fist is planted into his gut, staggering Len for a moment. Another hit connects, this time calloused knuckles break open the skin across Len's left cheek. The metallic tang of blood floods Len's mouth as his teeth cut open the inside of his mouth. Len spits a wad of spit and blood onto the sidewalk. That’s when he feels the cruel swing of the bat. The pain is immense as it blossoms through his stomach, his eyes scrunch up and his teeth grind together. Another hit makes contact with his leg. Now he is on the ground, looking up at his attackers.

‘That’s it gentleman, now you’ve got it. Make the fucker bleed.’

Trying to get up leads to failure, they stop him on his knees. One of the Santini thugs digs his shoe heel on top of Len’s left hand. Len cries out ferociously. His right hand grasps desperately at the hilt of his cold gun as he depresses the push button on his holster. The aluminum bat comes down again, cracking down on the same thigh as before. Another hit, another hit. There is still a chance, if only he could get a moment to retaliate. Blast them into the next world. Another punch hits him, the thug’s fist digging into the side of his head. His ear felt like it was on fire. With a frosty smirk curling his bloody lips, he rolls out of the way of the next wave of hits.

_These bastards are going to get it now._

Trembling in pain, Len pulls out his cold gun only to have it kicked out of his hand. It seemed to be miles away from reach. The bat comes down against his forearm, and he absolutely screams. Len curls into himself trying to contain the damage now. He was in agony. This wasn’t how he wanted to go down.

Under the cover of his arms, Len sorrowfully whispers, ’Lisa…’

What if they got to his sister next? Who would protect her? Would Mick watch after her?

Far away, sirens were blaring. Someone in the Liquor shop must have called the cops. It was too late for him though.

The thugs stop beating on him as their leader casually kneels beside Len. ‘Pretty useless without your gun aren’t you, Captain Cold.’ The man laughs cheerfully, his hand shooting out to grip Len’s crushed fingers tightly. Len feels sick as the man grinds them together. Moaning weakly, he pulls his hand back with as much force as he could muster.

‘I already told you. Get your slimy hand off of me.’

Len glares up at him defiantly, not wanting to have given in during his last few moments. Looking disappointed, the leader stands back up. Len curls back into himself, his legs pulled close to his chest.

‘What a waste of time…Alright, now you can kill him.’

With resignation Len thinks of Lisa as he watches the bat begin to descend towards his face. He wishes he could have been a better brother, wishes that he could see her smile just one more time.

‘Lisa.’

_This is it._

 

 

 


End file.
